The Wreath (Kristin Lavransdatter #1)(70)

“Why have you come here, Simon?” she shouted loudly, sounding frightened.

Both men turned toward her.

“To take you home,” said Simon. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You no longer have any right to command Kristin Lavransdatter,” said Erlend furiously. “She is mine now.”

“No doubt she is,” said Simon coarsely. “And what a lovely bridal house you’ve brought her to.” He stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he regained control over his voice and continued calmly, “But as things stand right now, I’m still her betrothed—until her father can come to get her. And until then I intend to defend with both the point and the edge of my sword as much of her honor as can be protected—in the judgment of other people.”

“You don’t need to do that; I can do it myself.” Erlend again turned as red as blood under Simon’s gaze. “Do you think I would allow myself to be threatened by a whelp like you?” he bellowed, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Simon put his hands behind his back.

“I’m not so timid that I’m afraid you’ll think I’m afraid of you,” he said in the same tone as before. “I shall fight you, Erlend Nikulauss?n, you can bet the Devil on that, if you do not ask Kristin’s father for her hand within a reasonable time.”

“I won’t do it at your bidding, Simon Andress?n,” said Erlend angrily; crimson washed over his face again.

“No, do it to right the wrong you have done to so young a wife,” replied Simon, unperturbed. “That will be better for Kristin.”

Kristin screamed shrilly, tormented by Erlend’s pain. She stamped on the floor.

“Go now, Simon, go! What right do you have to meddle in our affairs?”

“I have already told you,” replied Simon. “You’ll have to put up with me until your father has released us from each other.”

Kristin broke down completely.

“Go, go, I’ll come right away. Jesus, why are you tormenting me like this, Simon? You can’t think it’s worth it for you to worry about my affairs.”

“It’s not for your sake I’m doing this,” replied Simon. “Erlend, won’t you tell her that she has to come with me?”

Erlend’s face quivered. He touched her shoulder.

“You have to go now, Kristin. Simon Darre and I will talk about this some other time.”

Kristin rose obediently. She fastened her cloak around her. Her shoes stood next to the bed; she remembered them, but didn’t have the courage to put them on with Simon watching.



Outside the fog had descended again. Kristin rushed along with her head bowed and her hands clutching at her cloak. Her throat was bursting with suppressed sobs; wildly she wished that there was some place she could go to be alone, to weep and weep. The worst, the very worst she still had ahead of her. She had experienced something new that night, and now she was writhing from it—how it felt to see the man she had given herself to humiliated.

Simon was at her elbow as she dashed through the narrow alleys and across the streets and the open squares where the buildings had vanished; they could see nothing but the fog. Once, when she stumbled over something, he gripped her arm and stopped her from falling.

“Don’t run so fast,” he said. “People are staring at us. How you’re trembling,” he said in a gentler tone. Kristin was silent and kept walking.

She slipped on the muck of the road, she was soaking wet, and her feet were ice cold. The hose she wore were made of leather, but quite thin; she could feel them starting to split open, and the mud seeped in to her naked feet.

They reached the bridge across the convent creek and walked more slowly up the slope on the other side.

“Kristin,” said Simon suddenly, “your father must never hear of this.”

“How did you know that I was ... there?” Kristin asked.

“I came to talk to you,” replied Simon tersely. “Then I heard about the servant sent by your uncle. I knew that Aasmund was at Hadeland. The two of you aren’t very good at inventing ruses. Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes,” replied Kristin. “I was the one who sent word to Erlend that we should meet at the Fluga house. I knew the woman.”

“Then shame on you! But you couldn’t have known what kind of woman she is—and he ... Now listen,” said Simon sternly. “If it is possible to conceal it, then you should conceal from Lavrans what you have thrown away. And if you cannot, then you must try to spare him the worst of the shame.”

“You certainly show great concern for my father,” said Kristin, trembling. She tried to speak defiantly, but her voice was about to break with tears.

Simon walked on a short distance. Then he stopped—she caught a glimpse of his face as they stood out there alone in the fog. She had never seen him look that way before.

“I’ve noticed it every time I’ve been out to visit your home,” he said. “You, his women, have so little understanding of the kind of man Lavrans is. Trond Gjesling says that he doesn’t keep you all in line. But why should Lavrans bother with such things when he was born to rule over men? He had the makings of a chieftain, he was someone men would have followed, gladly; but these are not the times for such men. My father knew him at Baagahus. And so it has ended with him living up there in the valley, almost like a peasant. He was married off much too young; and your mother, with that temperament of hers, was not the one to make it any easier for him to lead such a life. It’s true that he has many friends, but do you think that any one of them can measure up to him? His sons he was not allowed to keep; it was you daughters who were to continue the lineage after him. Will he now have to endure the day when he sees that one is without health and another is without honor?”